Limitations
by Scifiroots
Summary: Illya’s certainly a piece of work...


Limitations

By Clarity Scifiroots

Disclaimers apply.

**Fandom**: Man from UNCLE**Pairing**: Illya/Napoleon

**Rating**: Teen

**Summary**: Illya's certainly a piece of work... (note: only used a small part of the song)

Twelfth day of June!fic, for fanaticalone's "Quartz" lyrics challenge

_Edited July 3, 2006_

_I need maintenance_

"How are you doing, _tovarisch_?"

Illya stifled a groan as he lifted up enough so that he could turn his head. He stared at Napoleon with his good eye—his other was swollen shut.

"That good?" Napoleon quirked a smile.

Illya closed his eye and sagged into the overly soft pillow and too-hard mattress of their current accommodations. He winced as his partner carefully treated the lashings on his back, knowing that this was just another part of the job and that in the future he was sure to be in this position again.

_I need patience_

"Why won't you tell me about it?"

"Unlike you, I do not see the advantage of spilling every detail of my time spent with a beautiful woman."

"Don't be such a prude, Illya. You can't tell me all you did was talk for two days while you were trapped up there."

Illya leveled his partner with an icy stare. "As a matter of fact that is indeed what we did. Marie happens to be highly intellectual and incredibly astute in reading people—or didn't you know why she refused to give you the time of day?"

Napoleon waved off the implied insult. "Forty-eight hours of talking? What on earth could you bear to talk about for so long?"

"A great many things," Illya said, turning away. "You, for one," he added a few moments later.

Startled, Napoleon asked, "What?" Illya didn't bother to turn back and his jaw was clenched shut. With a sigh, Napoleon exited the lab, resigned to the fact that he would never fully understand his partner.

_I'm not foolproof_

"How are you going to explain your injuries to Mr. Waverly?"

Glowering, Illya muttered, "I'll just inform him that I was distracted by my partner screaming like a little girl."

Napoleon bristled. "Hey! I might have yelled, but I hardly screamed and I would _never_ sound like a girl—little or otherwise. We'd already spotted that trap—you knew how to avoid it."

Illya snorted quietly and rolled his bandaged shoulder warily.

_I'm not waterproof_

"You look like a drowned rat, _tovarisch_," Napoleon said quietly.

Illya couldn't respond, too busy shivering violently as he sat hunched over in a chair—his feet in a tub of warm water and his body covered in blankets.

"I know playing with Thrushies can be great fun, but when they pull out hyped-up versions of ancient torture, it's time to stop taunting." Napoleon crouched in front of his partner with a concerned frown. "I would have been fine; you didn't need to draw all of that attention to yourself.

To himself, Illya smiled grimly and thought how wrong that was... but Napoleon didn't know; maybe wouldn't even care.

_I'm not shockproof  
_

"Wake up. Damnit, wake up!"

Illya started awake as the sting of several slaps registered in his mind. His limbs felt jittery as he hauled himself upright and searched the room with a wildly roaming gaze.

"Wh-what?" he asked hoarsely. He couldn't quite remember where they were or why his throat would be so dry.

Napoleon let out a shaky breath. "Jesus. You have to stay with me, Illya, understand?"

Illya finally met his gaze and nodded. "What happened?"

Napoleon looked like he'd but sucker-punched. "Adleleen's been putting you through some sort of electric shock." He reached out tentatively towards Illya's temple.

The memories slowly filtered back in a vague details. Illya closed his eyes and leaned back, relieved when he felt a strong arm circle his shoulders.

_Bombproof_

"Be more careful about where you are in proximity to the explosives when you set them off, okay?" the doctor reprimanded gently before sending Illya on his way.

Napoleon was waiting for him as he exited. Napoleon didn't look the slightest bit amused. Illya rolled his eyes and changed direction.

"Oh no you don't," Napoleon said harshly, grabbing hold of Illya's wrist. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Illya reclaimed his hand with a frustrated yank. "I'm a man, Napoleon. Mortal, just like you." Napoleon shook his head without comprehension.

_Bulletproof  
_

"Some men keep the bullets that hit them as souvenirs," Napoleon said quietly as Illya opened his eyes. He fingered the small bit of lead with both hands, gaze locked on it as if it held all the answers in the world.

Illya watched him silently, too exhausted and drugged up to much care about his partner's speculations.

Napoleon's dark gaze shifted and locked on Illya's face. "This was cutting it too close, _tovarisch_. Do you understand what happens if it gets any closer?"

"I'm tired," Illya whispered, closing his eyes.

_Fireproof_

"Well this is a nice change of pace," Napoleon remarked with a grimace.

Illya stared at their bound hands and the mass of blisters marring their skin from fingertip past the wrist. "It doesn't hurt," he stated.

Napoleon cast him a skeptical look. "Of course it does."

Illya shook his head. "You know it should. But it doesn't hurt." To prove his point, he quickly used his undamaged hand to pinch the base of Napoleon's thumb.

"Damn." Napoleon stared at their misshapen hands and then at their surroundings. "We need to find our equipment and contact HQ." Illya nodded in agreement.

_Stainproof  
_

"Do you realize how many scars you have?" Napoleon asked on a random assignment, coming from the bathroom into the main part of their rented room with only a towel around his waist. Illya averted his eyes politely.

"I don't count, if that's what you mean," he replied.

"Well, don't you at least wonder how many you have?"

Illya glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "No, I don't care to linger over them." When nothing was forthcoming and Napoleon continued to stand there, dripping on the cheap carpet, Illya gave in with a sigh. "How many did you count?"

With a frown, Napoleon said, "Without the aide of a mirror, I count one hundred twenty-six. Given how many are on your back, I don't know what to estimate for myself."

Illya shrugged. "It's a small matter. Not all hurts leave a physical mark. Many fade in time."

"You aren't affected by them?" Napoleon asked skeptically.

Illya met his gaze steadily. "I never said that."

_Pressureproof_

"Hi. Nice to meet you. I hope you don't mind us becoming real _close_ friends?"

Illya rolled his eyes in the pitch blackness. "Napoleon," he chided.

Napoleon squirmed and Illya tensed. That were lying face-to-face in the cramped confines of a wooden box barely larger than a coffin. There had to be tiny air holes along the siding somewhere to keep the air fresh... Illya wasn't sure exactly what Thrush hoped to accomplish with this, but he was certainly feeling uncomfortably... _physically_ aware of his partner.

"Calm down, I'm just trying to figure out what they left us with."

Illya sucked in a sharp breath as he felt a warm hand slip into his pants pocket. "Get out of there," he hissed.

Napoleon inched back out with a chuckle. "Didn't realize how hands-off you were until now, _tovarisch_."

"I don't have anything on me that would help," Illya assured with some annoyance.

"Alright, I'll take your word. So, you have some brilliant idea on how to get out of here?"

"Not at the moment..." Illya trailed off as Napoleon shifted again, unfortunately rubbing in just the right places to—

Napoleon's voice hinted at a smug smile. "Why Illya, you sly devil, you managed to sneak your gun in." His hand smoothed inward. "Oops, my mistake."

"Knock it off," Illya grumbled, feeling his face flush.

"Is this just our predicament?" Napoleon inquired, moving his head so that his lips brushed against Illya's ear. "Or does this help explain some the outlandish risks you take on our assignments?"

Illya closed his eyes and told himself to breath evenly.

Napoleon bit lightly on an available earlobe. "Well?"

"Don't torture me, Napasha," Illya whispered in a shaky exhale.

"Not unless you want me to," Napoleon said, head turning. In a moment his lips brushed gently across Illya's cheek, moving towards the blonde's lips.

Ten minutes later they were startled by a girlish squeal of laughter and a familiar male voice declaring, "Blimey! It's about time!"

Illya tore his lips away from his partner's and blinked up at the backlit figure bowing over the now open crate. The grinning visage of Mark Slate swam into focus; off to the side, April looked about to burst with excitement.

Napoleon looked down at his partner. With a familiar smirk, he asked, "Ready to come out?" Illya muffled a groan and resigned himself to suffer in silence.

Fin


End file.
